


Spokane

by Pyrosane



Category: Football RPF
Genre: FC Barcelona, M/M, Manchester City
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-11
Updated: 2014-10-11
Packaged: 2018-02-20 19:08:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2439632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pyrosane/pseuds/Pyrosane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Somewhere down the line, Kun asks Leo to join him on a forever roadtrip. Leo calls Kun crazy. Leo goes anyway.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Spokane

**Author's Note:**

> Done upon request

They divorce their wives for a road trip.

“You’re crazy,” Leo had said. He had thrown his bag into the trunk of Kun’s car and hidden his smile, mumbling again and again, “this is crazy.”

Still, Leo had climbed into the passenger seat and that was what ended them up at Small’s, Kun fighting back hiccups and Leo uselessly giggling, telling Kun to hold his breath.

“It’s not working,” says Kun.

“That’s because you’re not supposed to breathe. Quit talking.” Kun goes blue in the face before they leave the diner, a crumpled tip of fifty dollars left beneath the check with some soggy fries and tin cups cleaned of chocolate milkshakes. Kun hiccups for another hour, and Leo laughs for two more after that.

It is yet hard to tell, but Kun and Leo have been pocketed by age in this gasoline summer, heat waves rolling off their years as Kun rounds two hundred and Leo anticipates two hundred and one. For one hundred and fifty years, they have swayed to the hum of radio static in Kun’s little red Volvo, inconspicuously worn down by time and Leo’s careless door-slamming. “A classic,” as Kun loves to put it, “you and me and an ugly pickup truck that lets us fall asleep on its back. A classic.” Leo was never one to dance with elephants but he is clumsy enough to fall into Kun every time they brake too hard. Kun shrugs Leo off but Leo has a way of whining, winning, taking Kun back to a time when all that mattered were room assignments and golden trophies and _los albicelestes_. So Kun brings Leo in closer; there isn’t much on the horizon except for the sunset and a string of ghost towns anyway.

At three hundred years, Kun suggests stargazing.

“What would we find in the stars?” Leo asks.

“The answer,” Kun says.

“To what?”

Kun cuts the engine and straightens his back. He clears his throat and in a booming voice, mimics a game-show host. “Did the great Lionel Messi ever grow another centimeter or two? Find out in the next episode of ‘Stargazing with Aguero!”

Leo flips Kun off. Kun kisses Leo.

Regardless, they go stargazing and rename every constellation after people they used to know.

Kun digs deep and discovers that he likes classic American rock almost as much as he loves cumbia. Almost.

Leo finds a passion in dangling his legs out of open car-windows and letting the air sift through his toes. He lets his feet move to the dancing of the clouds and the thumping and crashing of Kun’s wailing music. When Kun looks over at Leo and tells him that maybe he should take up drum lessons, that he _definitely_ will take up drum lessons, Leo leans his head back and closes his eyes on Kun’s lap.

“Save it for when we’ve reached the edge of the earth,” says Leo.

“Only if you promise to learn guitar.”

Leo sighs.

At four hundred years, they reach a city called Wonderland. The day is rainy and dark, but the lights still catch their cheeks and cast humid glows around their eyes. Kun sleeps with a crooked grin and Leo stops the car with the intention of staying.

For a year and a half, Leo and Kun live off of hotel sheets and street-vendor delicacies, fireflies dancing in their eyes every time they call the city home. Kun loves to sing and for the first time in centuries, Leo touches a ball and shows the kind people of Wonderland how to dribble. Even without a name to his face, the people call him little maestro and that very next morning, Kun and Leo leave. They continue their search for the far end of the universe, figuring that Wonderland is not it.

****At four hundred and fifty years, Leo and Kun grow tired. Not exhausted, but weary enough to return to a dirt field under streetlamps punched in by time. One glows but none of them really light up, and Kun asks Leo if he can shoot lasers out of his eyes.

“I figured, since you’ve got such magic feet and all, you could probably light up the night, too.”

Leo takes a few steps forward before throwing Kun a backward glance. “Wasn’t that always your thing? Making dark places go bright, I mean.”

“Whoever knew Lionel Messi was also a flirt?” Kun says. His fights back a smile and before long, Kun is chasing Leo in scattering dust, like they are sixteen years old again. Kun finally catches a stumbling Leo when the last streetlamp gives in. Their breathing sounds harsh against the soft, steady chorus of crickets and Kun decides that they were brought together by fate.

 

At five hundred years, Kun and Leo drive right through the outskirts of the galaxy, which turn out to be one willow tree, two shortbread houses, and half of a sidewalk square. The air is pink and smells strongly of raspberries, falling on Kun and Leo like it is snow. Before they are completely shrouded, Kun takes out his phone and, a “say cheese!” later, takes a photo of himself and Leo looking like they are the World’s Biggest Idiots. It is the only photo they keep and finally, when they are ready to leave, Kun starts the car.

 

At five hundred years and two minutes, Kun and Leo find themselves in a parking lot, right back where they started. The radio works, and Leo’s laughter lines have smoothed out into nothing but the worries of a man with two boots and a ball. Kun reclines in his seat and pretends to fall asleep as Leo throws his jacket over the other man. Leo gets out of the car, a bag on his shoulders and nothing but the thoughts of a game on his mind. At five hundred and ten minutes, Kun and Leo are twenty six and twenty seven and if they ever told anybody that they took a road trip, four hundred and fifty short years from the edge of the earth to the outskirts of the galaxy, they would be liars.


End file.
